


Obverse Rejection

by LosttotheHoping



Series: Legend of Zudai [2]
Category: Fable 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Because I can, Blood, F/M, Garth kinda wants to bone Reaver, Gen, Good and bad Sparrow, Gore, Hero bloodlines, I like beating on my characters, Lots of Details, M/M, Made up continents, Made up kingships, Plot, Reaver totally wants to bone Garth, Sparrow is a complicated person, but you get the point, eventually, jumps right into plot, no matter his morality, not that they belong to me, probably, the Hero of Oakvale is a plot device, this may be a pairing, universe hopping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5082874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LosttotheHoping/pseuds/LosttotheHoping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his daughter is kidnapped and his wife is slaughtered, Sparrow will do anything to right the wrongs of the past.  However, a little bit of magic goes a long way in parallel universes, and he gets a bit more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wraithmarsh

**Author's Note:**

> You love me. Admit it. I enjoyed writing this, almost as much as I hope you enjoy reading it!

Wraithmarsh.  A singularly despicable place, that Reaver would not ever _deign_ to visit if it wasn’t, occasionally, necessary.  The wretched place is too full of memories, of decay, of heartbreak, for him to feel truly comfortable here.

However, he has little choice this time.  The man he searches for is nowhere else to be found, not even with his _beloved_ wife, and so Reaver must look here.

A part of him is unsurprised to find Sparrow living on the drowned farm.  He is, in fact, inhabiting the place Reaver himself once called ‘home’, sleeping in his bed soundly.  He doesn’t twitch as the Thief approaches cautiously, back to the doorless entrance of the house.

However, when Reaver reaches out to touch him, the figure on the bed ripples and fades away.  A knife presses into the small of his back, and Reaver scowls.  “Is that any way to treat a friend?” he asks.

The knife doesn’t move, and Sparrow doesn’t say a word, but the presence is so familiar that the Thief doesn’t for one minute think he may have stumbled upon someone else.  Instead, he scoffs.  “Yes, it would figure you’d be overly paranoid.  It _is_ me, you know.  Do us both a favor and don’t make me put you in your place.”

It’s a ballsy statement, he knows.  Reaver could out shoot Sparrow any day, and undoubtedly defeat him in a swordfight.  But the other Hero has magic on his side, so the Thief is quite literally playing with fire.

It pays off, though, and Sparrow withdraws.  When Reaver turns, the evil man has turned and is heading toward a cupboard on the other side of the room.  Surprisingly, the interior of it is in good repair, and full of clean, safe food to eat.

His host begins to prepare a meal, which Reaver finds both completely astounding as well as utterly out of character.  “So what is this?” he demands impatiently, unwilling to dwell on Sparrow’s behavior.  “Living out here like a hermit.  Aren’t there… Banshees and Hollow Men and all that rubbish?”

Sparrow doesn’t even look at him, though, as he finishes cutting up carrots and moves onto some mutton.

“And the Shadow Court, too,” Reaver goes on when the silence is too much.  “What about them?  Don’t they give you trouble??”

“No,” Sparrow murmurs, and dumps the ingredients into a pot.  He turns to regard Reaver silently for a second, before moving to pick up a pail of water just inside the door.  Most of it, he pours into the pot as well, and then uses a small spell on the stove to start the soup to boil.

“No, he says,” Reaver grumbles, plopping down on the end of his- Sparrow’s bed.  “That’s all I get?  A ‘no’?  I don’t even get a ‘hello’, or a ‘how are you doing these days, Reaver?  I don’t know for sure because I’m a _hermit_ in a _swamp_ and we haven’t seen each other in _two years_ ’!”

Sparrow sighs at him, but says nothing.  Instead, he starts _cleaning the house_.  Reaver can only gape at the sight, at the powerful, evil Hero Sparrow, wrought from vengeance and blood-shed, _washing the table_.  “My _god_ , man,” the Thief grumbles, still staring.  “What’s _happened_ to you?  You’re… _domestic_!”

That, apparently, is as far as Sparrow’s patience will go, because before he has a chance to react, Reaver finds himself dangling by his throat against the wall.  “What do you want, Reaver?” he growls, as Reaver gags and gasps for breath.

“Can’t- talk!” he manages to choke out.

Sparrow releases him, and his knees nearly buckle when he drops to his feet.  Scowling, Reaver can’t help his anger at the assault.  It was all he could do not to pull his gun.  “I came,” he mutters, “because I have no one else to turn to.”

Sparrow remains still as he watches Reaver, saying nothing.  Reaver draws a breath, telling himself that shooting the man will not get him any favors.  Let alone keep him _alive_.

Damn Sparrow.  “See, I found this map, a bit ago.  My crew and I, that is,” Reaver explains softly.  “To treasure, was the tale, naturally.  Together, we set sail and went after it.  All went well.  It wasn’t easy, of course, there were many strange things guarding the treasure - including a dragon, believe it or not - but we got through, we had the prize.

“Then we all fell asleep.  All of us, right in the middle of whatever we were doing- laughing, pawing through gold, dancing…  Yes, yes, me too,” he grumbles when Sparrow quirks a brow.  The man gives no verbal response, and Reaver sighs.

“I have no idea why, or how.  I woke up eventually, disoriented, nauseous, dizzy.  Then I saw them, my men, each of them dead.  Their skin had this strange green hue to it,” he says.  “I suspect I live because of my Hero blood.”

Sparrow looks actually intrigued.  “Dark magic,” he concludes after a minute.

Reaver stares at him for a moment.  “That’s it?  Of _course_ it was bloody dark magic!” he rails, temper snapping.  “Why am I even here?  I should find some intelligent company.  Like _Garth_.”

He can feel Sparrow’s gaze on him as he spins on a heel, but the other Hero doesn’t stop him.  He marches out the door without looking back, and goes off on his merry way.

He shouldn’t have come here in the first place.

xXx

In the darkness, a child woke sobbing, and Alex pulled herself out of bed without even fully awakening.  She walked through the home, given to her by her husband (whom she wanted nothing to do with these days), and stepped into her daughter’s room with a sigh.  “Cat,” she muttered sleepily.  “Please, Cat, stop…  what’s wrong?”  She drifted through the dark room, not bothering with the lamp on the wall, and sat on the edge of the eight year old’s bed.

Reaching forward, Alex’s fingers ghosted over ice, and she froze.  “Cat?”

Her daughter whimpered in the dark, and the ice moved, back, slowly.  There was ice now, around Alex’s heart, around her lungs, a great iron band that proved impossible to shift.   _No… Sparrow_!

The band squeezed, and the shadows of little Catherine’s room slipped away into nothing.

Alex didn’t even have time to cry.

xXx

Hannah sighs as she walks the forest path, lost in old thoughts.  It's been a while since she's been to this place; not much has changed in two years.  The moon still lights the leaves with silver, and the birds still settle down in their summer nests.

Except it's terribly cold for a summer night, the goose flesh on her arms testament to that.  She shivers and glances about for any sort of landmark.  A familiar tree catches her eye; she is getting close to the temple then.

As she walks, the detritus beneath her feet crunches softly in the cool quiet.  A few minutes pass before she becomes aware of an echo to her footsteps, and so she halts, glancing back.  There's no one in her wake, and no further noise.  Maybe she's imagining it, but still she lingers briefly before continuing.  Now that she's listening for it, she can hear it the second the echo starts again, and she whirls.

There's nothing there.  No noise to be heard, no movement- natural or otherwise.  The forest is cloaked in eerie silence.  "I know you're there!" she cries fearlessly, hand on the hilt of her hammer over one shoulder.  "C'm out!"

No response.  She stands completely still for several hurried heartbeats, breathing shallowly and listening.  Slowly, her arm lowers, body tense.  She flees the rest of the way to her once-home, hoping to find safety there.


	2. Of Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old man walks to his death; Sparrow seeks another's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter... I know. I shall make up for it later?

Garth waits at the Sandgoose Inn.  He's been here two days already.  Two days since coming to town with Hammer's letter clenched in his fist, and finding the gruesome scene he hadn't wanted to believe.  Hammer had contacted _him_ , she wrote, because she didn't know where Reaver or Sparrow were, and he was easy to find.

She had been sitting on little Cat's bed when he arrived, holding a weathered magic book he'd once given to Sparrow for the child.  The girl is missing; it was her mother's blood all over the room, and tracked into the hall.  Of course by then, the kind Heroine had already buried the poor woman, but the reek was enough to test even his stomach.

_"Little feet,"_ Hammer had sobbed when she looked up at him, _"all over, little feet."_  She had been referring to the barefoot prints perfectly preserved through the mess, occasionally smeared in places by horrible drag-marks.

He'd told her to leave the rest to him, and she hasn't left the abandoned Temple of Light since.

Garth sighs, and gives the barmaid a coin for more juice when she appears at his side again.  Now, he waits for some sign of Sparrow.  He'd sent a new message to Bloodstone.  If there is anywhere that Sparrow would visit outside of whatever hole he's put himself into, it's there, where he can hide himself with ease.

The Mage can only hope his fellow isn't too consumed by his own tainted magicks to see reason- or at least compassion for the once-love of his life.

Following this thought are several terrified gasps, and the clatter of breaking dishes.  Garth looks up toward the door to see Sparrow, staring right at him.  The Dark Hero ignores the people as they scramble out of his way, and walks over to sit with the Mage.

“I half expected you wouldn’t come,” Garth admits after a beat.  Sparrow says nothing, so he sighs.  “Have you seen it yet?”  No answer.  “I suppose so.”  He frowns.  "There is a lot of magical residue.  The frozen spots, and the blood crystals-"

"An undead," Sparrow says, half agreement, half curse.

Garth nods.  "What will you do?"

Eerie red eyes narrow slightly.  "She's my daughter."

That prompts a faint smile out of the Mage.  "I almost feel bad for the poor fool."  They sit in quiet a few moments, and Garth wonders if Sparrow has anything more to say.  However, in the same heartbeat, Sparrow is standing.  "Hammer is at the old temple of light."

He receives no answer, as he expected, and then Sparrow is gone.

xXx

Reaver isn't entirely surprised to see Sparrow.  He's surprised the other Hero is here, that he stands across from the Thief, dripping slightly from the downpour outside the tavern, but he isn't surprised to see him.  The people always whisper and tremble when Sparrow draws near; tend to spot him coming, and so Reaver knew he would before he was even in sight.  But Reaver is drunk, and in a foul mood, so he pulls out his gun and fires.  Predictably, Sparrow side-steps, and glass shatters somewhere behind him as a woman squeaks in fear and surprise.  "Piss off," Reaver snaps, annoyed.

Instead, Sparrow sits and places a ribbon on the table.  It's a pretty yellow ribbon with little rust-colored spots staining one end like a demented smile.  Reaver may be drunk, but he knows blood when he sees it, and it's enough to make him curious.  "What, didn't like it when she said no?"  He laughs, and it's loud and not-quite-echoing in the nearly silent room.  No one else dares to make a sound, and it might have something to do with the look of pure murder on Sparrow's face.  Reaver doesn't care.  Like hell he'll let this man, _this man_ , cow him.  He'd die first.

"It's Cat's."  Sparrow's voice, disused often enough that Reaver wonders why it doesn't rasp, is quiet.  The Thief half imagines it doesn't reach quite past his table, meant to be for him alone.

Cat.  Sparrow's precious little daughter, whom Reaver has only ever had the pleasure of encountering once.  She'd had her father's eyes, and her mother's pale brown hair.  "What do you want, Sparrow?  Make it quick.  My bottle and I were having a long and lusty affair."

Sparrow doesn't laugh with him, and the chuckle dies in his throat.  "Help me find her, and I'll help you avenge your crew."

Never has he heard so many words fall from Sparrow's thin lips, but he supposes Cat _would_ be to the one to prompt them.  Still, he has his pride.  "How about you find Garth, ask him for help, eh?"  Sparrow is, again, silent.  Reaver smirks.  "Or is he still doing the pacifist thing?" he goes on, gaze flicking down to the other's hands, half-curled possessively over Cat's ribbon.

They press slightly, knuckles going white, and when Sparrow shoves his chair back, Reaver kicks the table forward, into his gut.  In the same moment, his own chair tips, and he's flipping back out of it as it crashes to the floor, gun up on instinct.  They both freeze, staring each other down; Sparrow is still holding the damned ribbon, like his life depends on it.  Like he's angry at it.  "Is it supposed to be my fault?  You can't keep track of your own kin, it's pathetic."

Sparrow carefully tucks the ribbon away, and steps over his chair as he walks out.  It should feel like a reversal of their last meeting, but it doesn't.  It feels like Reaver must be losing his mind, because he's actually thinking about going after the arse.  He shouldn't; Sparrow doesn't deserve his help, any more than he has a right to Sparrow's.  And yet....

Reaver growls as he shoves his fingers up through his hair, and rights his chair with a well-placed kick.  Then he steps over Sparrow's on his way out into the torrent, sprinting onto the path and down toward a retreating back.

"Wait!  You great bother, stop already!"  He catches up at the base of the path, between where it goes up two ways and down another.  "I'll help.  Geez, can't you take a joke?"

Sparrow just starts walking again.  Of course he can't.

xXx

The old man's stride was powerful, even.  He walked with the sort of confidence of the self-assured, gaze fixed on the clouds ahead.  Resolute.  Resigned.  He knew his fate.

Today, he would die, but with the Powers' grace, he may be able to kill his foe in the process.  Unfortunately, Rogdan, leader of the Temple of Shadows, would not be felled easily; it was pertinent to the village of Oakvale, and indeed the whole land, that he be destroyed.  If not, Chaos would reign throughout the land, and his sister foretold its devastation should he not defeat him.

_"Do you promise you won't let him rise again?" he asked, watching the unaging woman carefully.  Her smile was true, but distant, as it had been for many years._

_"You know I'll do everything I can, but brother, I cannot fight him forever.  You **must** defeat him!"_

_He nodded, ceding to her insistence.  "I will."_

He could still remember the frozen smile on Theresa's face as he left.  Now he'd crested the hill that would house his final fight, and saw no one.

The Hero of Oakvale was not fooled; Rogdan would be here soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, PLEASE!


	3. Undead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Four Heroes are reunited and come up with the bare bones of a plan to help Sparrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, an update! Enjoy!

A little girl made of smoke stands before Hannah, arms outstretched, head tilted and upturned.  Beseeching her.  How can she refuse?

Cool finger tips fumble for the Hero's palm, and she lets the child pull her from the farm house.  Hannah forgets at once about her cleaning, the hours she's spent scrubbing blood out of the floor and crying because she's never seen Sparrow look so utterly devastated.  She forgets that Catherine just disappeared, and Alex was violently murdered.  She lets the child lead her, and she smiles contentedly.

It's a nice fall night out, not too cold, or dry.  A light breeze sweeps up off the water of the pond, sprinkling Hannah's cheeks with little cool pinpricks.  She can hear a humming from the shadow before her, strange and melancholy, and they're walking slowly together toward the pool of liquid.  Someone whispers to her.

' _ You never told him, did you?  That deeply hidden truth in your heart _ .'

Hannah pauses, and the child looks up at her.  She swallows, feeling a sudden pang, as she thinks of that younger Sparrow she knew.  One that smiled like the sun.

' _ Never told him.  Let him fall.  Did you even want to save her?  Now you have a chance, since she's dead _ .'

The child tugs on her hand, and Hannah takes a distracted step, sob caught in her throat.  The world before her blurs behind tears.

' _ It'll be even better if you save his daughter.  He'll be so grateful to you, and it kills you, because you like the thought _ .'

"No..." Hannah chokes out, halting.  "No, I don't-"

' _ Don't lie to me.  It's true. _ '

"No-!"

Lightning spears through the child before her, and she spasms, jerking away from Hannah and dissolving.  Hannah's anguished scream breaks through the night like a knife.

xXx

They've made it to Bowerstone by the time their follower catches up, and Reaver suggests they wait at the Inn.  Sparrow doesn't protest, doesn't care, just allows the Thief to pick them a table - in a corner, overlooking the whole first floor.

The Heroes wait, each lost to his thoughts, until a shabby looking assassin walks in and heads right for them.  Reaver slaps the table as he does, ever theatrical, and looks at Sparrow.  "What did I say, old friend?"  The last word drips from his tongue like an insult.  "We  _ do _ have an admirer!  Fancy that."  His boot under the table thunks, and the chair across from them skitters out into the assassins knees, caught before it can topple.  "Have a seat, friend, tell us a story!" he cajoles.

The man nervously steadies the seat, but doesn't use it, shadowed eyes flicking back and forth between them.  "I... heard yer looking fer a young lass..."

Sparrow watches him more carefully.  The young man's voice shakes as he speaks, his hands clench at the chair back hard enough to turn his knuckles white, and his breath is shallow.

Reaver smiles at him like a shark, and sits up to tap at their tankard hard enough that it sloshes.  "Do tell.  Ale?"

"N-no," the assassin says, with a slight shake of his head.  "I know what happened to her, because... because I was there."

The explanation as to why is irrelevant, but obvious, and the only reason Sparrow isn't pulling the man's head off is because Reaver has one hand on his knee.  The man is terribly good at reading him, and if he weren't busy trying to calm himself with shallow breaths of smokey night air, he might respect him all the more for it.  As it is, he forces the tension from his body, and Reaver's hand retreats.  At least he's no longer smiling.  "Why, pray tell?  Fancied Sparrow's wife, did you?"

The boy looks ready to wet his pants.  "No, I-  I was commissioned to kill her and... Sell the child to slavers."  Sparrow is certain his desire to kill this man is clearly written on his face, because the boy hastens on.  "But I never got the chance.  Some old hag came in through the window and put the child to sleep, then t-tore..."  He rethinks his words.  "Killed her mother.  Then she disappeared, and so did the kid."

Reaver’s smile returns, false but bright.  “Oh?  What sort of old lady?  Rags?  Bandages over her eyes?  Skirt all a mess?”

The boy shakes his head, not that they're surprised.  “No…  She was pale, like she had no blood, and…  and her eyes were like stars.  I could hear her voice in my head, speaking of all the horrible things I’ve done…”

Sparrow exchanges a look with Reaver; Reaver’s brows lift just slightly in acknowledgement.  They both already know where this is going.  The boy is going on, looking more deeply unsettled the longer he speaks.  “She… when she came in, it was cold, like winter, although it’s autumn.  I thought I was frozen to the spot and she…”  He shivers.  “She killed the woman, because the woman wouldn’t let her near the child.  She… she cried out for ‘Sparrow’... it was the last thing she said.”

Sparrow’s hands clench on the table, rage welling up hot in his chest and nearly blinding him with its ferocity.  Reaver’s hand is back on his knee, and he thinks briefly about cutting it off.  He remains still, and the Thief wisely removes it.  “Well!  Isn’t that a tale, mm?” he says cheerfully.  “How much brandy have you had, lad?”

The boy shakes his head.  “N-none…”

“Shame.  Ale?”  Reaver’s smile is sharp.

The boy picks up the mug after another beat of hesitation, and swallows half of it.  His head rolls in the next heartbeat, the sudden slaughter and resulting spray of blood silencing the bar.  Reaver’s on his feet, making a little sound in disappointment.  The inn erupts into chaos as Sparrow dismisses it all and heads for the door.  Reaver hastens to keep up in his wake.

“Now what?”

“We get Garth,” Sparrow replies, the words a growl ripped from his throat.

xXx

The trip through Rookridge is as troublesome as usual.  Bandits are less prevalent these days, but whenever they see Sparrow, they tend to lose what little common sense they have and go into a flying rage.  Probably something to do with Sparrow’s body count, but Reaver isn’t paying that much attention to what they  _ say _ …

“Oh, that one was a shame!  Clean him up, make him read a book…  He’d have been perfect for a tumble after that,” the Thief comments as he ducks underneath an arrow.

Sparrow doesn’t respond, too busy slaughtering bandit after bandit without a care.  Reaver wonders why he even  _ bothers _ talking to the man, but then, the screams are a bit… loud, aren’t they?  “Can’t you die a bit more quietly?”  He shoots a man in the head, cutting him off mid-rage-cry.

At his comment, Sparrow slants him a condemning look and breaks a man’s neck.  Then he ducks under the swing of a woman’s sword, scoops her up and dumps her into some bushes.  She screams in anger, struggling to get back up, and Reaver shoots her.

_ That _ is interesting.  Now that he’s thinking about it, since this whole fiasco started, Sparrow has been refraining from killing women.  It’s never bothered the man before, so Reaver can only assume it has something to do with Alex and Cat.  How to test it…?

Reaver smiles as a man comes running at him, and stabs him in the throat.  “What, cat got your tongue?” he laughs, side-eying Sparrow as the man gurgles and dies.

Sparrow flinches at the word just slightly, distracted enough that an arrow lodges in his shoulder.  He grunts and rips it from his flesh, using it to savagely stab a man’s eyes out before putting him out of his misery.

The Thief makes a mental note not to use that word again.

xXx

They arrive in Oakfield just after dark, to find Garth battling a Banshee.  Hammer sits ten feet away from Sparrow’s old home on the ground, staring blankly as Garth strikes the finishing blow.

Sparrow walks forward and crouches beside Hammer, whose eyes lift to him and tear up immediately.  “It was just a little girl!” she sobs brokenly.  He reaches forward grimly and grasps her shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“Well, a Banshee girl,” Reaver says somewhere behind him.  “Hardly even a child at all.  Where’d your common sense go, Big Bertha?”

The Dark Hero watches the woman’s face turn from sorrow to anger in a heartbeat, and releases her.  She’s on her feet before he can blink and lunging at the Thief, who yells in alarm and dives out of the way.  “Woah, woah!  Easy there, girl!  No need to get a fright!” he laughs as Sparrow stands.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU!” she shrieks at him, conveniently forgetting her hammer for once.

Garth shakes his head.  “They never change, do they,” he mutters.

At that, Sparrow shakes his head and resists the bizarre urge to smile, because Garth is right- they never do.  What Garth isn’t taking into account, however, is that Hammer is no longer crying, and that is entirely Reaver’s doing.

“You two!” Garth barks sternly at last, and the pair draw to a stop, looking over at him.  “Knock it off.  I believe we have business, don’t we?”

“Oh, yes,” Reaver says, straightening his clothing and dusting himself off.  He smirks at Garth, eyes dipping to slowly crawl up the man.  “Lots of business, if you like.”

Garth doesn’t deign that with a response as he turns to Sparrow.  “You two came here for a reason, yes?”

Sparrow nods.  “We believe someone is controlling Banshees,” he replies quietly.

The Mage seems to be considering that.  “If so, then we have a problem.  For someone to be using these creatures, they’d either have to be exceptionally powerful as a Necromancer, or…”

“Or?” Hammer prompts impatiently after a beat when Garth falls thoughtfully quiet.

Sighing, Garth shakes his head.  “Or using the Normanomicon.”

“That’s  _ impossible _ ,” Reaver scoffs and looks to Sparrow.  “You hid that thing away, didn’t you?”

Sparrow blinks at them as they all look at him, then shrugs.  Actually, he’d given it back to Sam, because having those two idiots around wreaking havoc with the thing had seemed funny at the time.  However, he doubts they’d go after his family, so if it is in use, someone else took it from them.

“See?” Reaver says, misreading him.  “It’s not an issue.”

“That means there’s a Necromancer out there somewhere, with a particular grudge against Sparrow,” Garth says with a sigh, and Sparrow doesn’t bother correcting them.  Either way, they’ll track the fool down and he’ll kill him.

Reaver huffs.  “So how do we find him?  Also, kill him, but that’s less of a trick and more just a treat.”

Hammer rolls her eyes.

“We should start by getting information.  Reaver, you and I will be going to town to rumor search, see if we can’t find out anything about the undead.  Sparrow, you and Hammer should probably go speak with someone in the gypsy camps.  They’re more in tune with the land than anyone else.  If there’s someone mucking about with the dead, they’ll know about it.”

Reaver is grinning by the time Garth is finished.  “Aww, I  _ knew _ you liked me!”

“... actually, Hammer, would you accompany me instead?” Garth asks, straight faced.

As Reaver loudly protests, Sparrow turns to leave, not caring which of them follow him.  Shortly, Hammer races to catch up with him.  “It's a long trip…  Do we want to leave without getting rest first?”  Her step falters at his look.  “Apparently yes….  Sparrow.  We'll save your daughter, if it's the last thing we do, okay?”

Of that, she is correct.  Except  _ he _ would not be the one dying.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment?? Sil vu plait?


End file.
